


Peace and Opportunity

by fwai (wenwen)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon Universe, Crack, Gen, Humor, Literally no one from canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wenwen/pseuds/fwai
Summary: Konohagakure: a bright urban village teeming with peace and opportunity and defended, of course, by the best shinobi in the land.  What could go wrong?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: SHIP WARS Secret Santa 2020, why im sleep deprived 💖✨





	Peace and Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astralfrogs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralfrogs/gifts).



“There you go. Welcome to Konohagakure,” said the shinobi, handing Masaru’s identification papers back to him. 

“Thank you so much!” Masaru exclaimed, rushing through the massive gates. His head turned as if on a swivel, entranced by all the vivid colours and the figures bounding along the rooftops with ease. 

Konohagakure was a bright urban village teeming with peace and opportunity and defended, of course, by the best shinobi in the land. He couldn’t wait to call it his home.

“It’s a very nice place,” said Masaru. Excitement balled up in his chest as he glanced around at the walls of the apartment. It looked fairly new, despite the complex having been established some fifty years ago, and the cost -- he couldn’t have gotten a better price anywhere in Hi no Kuni. He had expected much more difficulty moving to Konohagakure, but despite his parents’ dire warnings, he was off to a great start. “I think I’ll take it.”

“Excellent,” said the realtor, Noriko-san, a businesslike woman, and drew a stack of papers out of her bag. “If you’ll look over these and sign when you’re ready, you can move in right away.”

Move in right away? What a piece of cake! Masaru took the documents eagerly, skimming their contents. As stated, the rent was low, amenities promised, and maintenance assured for both simple fixes and larger repairs. Just when he was about to sign, however, a certain figure tucked away in the middle of a long paragraph caught his eye. He boggled. 

“Insurance is how much?” Masaru demanded, aghast. 

Noriko-san was unmoved. “You must understand that certain hazards are higher in a major shinobi village. These housing units run a risk of accidental fire, flooding, electric strike, landslides -- ”

Masaru pointed at the offending number. “But this much?”

“This apartment complex has been accidentally demolished and rebuilt thirty-four times,” Noriko-san said. 

Masaru’s mouth dropped open. So that’s why everything looked so new. 

“Please feel free to check out other places but you really won’t get a better deal anywhere else in Konohagakure,” Noriko-san added. “This complex is one of the rather less destroyed ones, given its distance from the training grounds.”

She was right.

Masaru’s downstairs neighbours were shinobi. He discovered this one night when he was awoken by the pounding of feet not from the ceiling, but from the floor. 

“Guh,” he said aloud. He shoved his pillow over his head and hoped the noise would go away by itself.

It did not. 

Later, Masaru would blame his lack of sleep on the decision he made: he decided to go downstairs and politely ask his neighbors to please quiet down. 

Nights in Konoha were warm, so Masaru didn’t put anything on over his thin pajamas as he shuffled himself out of bed and stumbled into the hall. He stubbed his toe three times before he managed to put his shoes on, and in a foul mood limped to the elevator.

He could hear his downstairs neighbors as he approached the door. There was a strange rhythmic _thunk-thunk-thunk_ that started and stopped at strange intervals, the pounding of footsteps no doubt up one wall, across the ceiling, and down another wall, and muffled voices. 

Masaru, thoughtlessly, pounded on the door with his fist. 

Nothing changed. He thumped the door again. 

The door exploded outward mid-knock, and Masaru tripped backwards as a plume of flame shot out into the hall. A barrage of scarily sharp knives followed, and Masaru scrambled for cover as the walls -- wood, of course -- caught fire.

“Not the outside hallway!” someone inside roared. 

“Who opened the door, dumbass?” shrilled someone else. 

Masaru peeked around the edge of the door and only just caught sight of scorched, peeling wallpaper pitted with knives and shuriken before a tidal wave blasted him in the face, throwing him on his back and extinguishing the hallway fire.

The door slammed shut.

Masaru, stunned, picked himself up and dripped his way back to his own apartment. Maybe living with the occasional thumping from downstairs wasn’t so bad after all. 

By evening, hunger finally lured Masaru out of his bed, where he’d been curled in the fetal position for the last fifteen-odd hours. He didn’t have any food, but it took another two hours for him to work up the courage to leave the apartment. 

Armed with a canvas bag, he emerged onto sunny streets, where he cultivated his appearance of a raving lunatic by flinching at everyone and everything, including falling leaves and people walking too closely to him. 

The normalcy of the market soothed him, though, and instead of jumping at the smallest noise, the fresh fruit and vegetables drew his attention. His old town could never have dreamed of having such a diverse offering. A display of perfectly ripe oranges caught his eye, and he moved closer, entranced.

He’d loved oranges as a child, and while the display strangely did not have many oranges on it, he perused them eagerly. Kami knew he could use a treat after the events of last night.

The ceiling imploded with an almighty crash, and Masaru leapt backwards like a startled cat as a large man wearing a padded green vest slammed through the rafters, straight onto the orange display. The man groaned, glancing over at him. “Hey. Good reflexes, kid,” he said.

Without another word, the shinobi brushed himself off and leapt straight back up through the hole in the roof, leaving behind a smashed pallet of equally smashed fruit. Frozen, Masaru stared at the mess in dismay.

“Customer-san? Customer-san.”

Masaru turned to see one of the market clerks at his elbow, entirely unruffled without a hair out of place. “A-ah, yes?”

“Customer-san,” said the market clerk. “If you are still interested in purchasing some oranges, we have more in the back. Right this way.”

Oh, realized Masaru, somewhat detached as he followed the market clerk. This must be why they didn’t put many of the oranges on display.

“How’s your first week in Konoha going?” asked Chichiko, sipping delicately from her teacup. Masaru’s older cousin, she had lived in Konoha since she was five. He’d moved to here on her urging, sold on her stories of the glamour of living in the strongest Hidden Village in all the nations. 

That morning, Masaru had nearly been trampled by a pack of massive dogs, buried under six feet of solid rock, and singed by a tiny black-haired kid sneezing fire. He was pretty sure his face was stuck in a horrified grimace. “Oh. You know. Moving’s always hard.” 

Chichiko nodded philosophically. “The stars look over here, huh?”

“Yes. The stars,” Masaru agreed weakly. His hand shook when he reached for a stick of dango. 

Chichiko paid him no mind. She reached for the teapot and refilled each of their cups. “This is my favourite teahouse,” she commented. “This blend of leaves is grown in southern Hi no Kuni, and they’re roasted for two whole days. The flavour is incredible.” She glanced up at Masaru when he didn’t respond.

“Ah. Yeah. It’s good,” Masaru said, looking over his shoulder. There was nothing there. 

“You seem a bit jumpy,” Chichiko noted.

Masaru resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. “You could say that, yeah.”

A tidal wave barrelled down the street. It passed before Masaru could react, spraying everyone in the area with cold water. Rooftops, people, and walls dripped in its wake.

Chichiko, unconcerned, wiped the damp hair out of her eyes and took another sip of tea. “Living in Konoha does take a bit of adjustment,” she said. “Don’t worry. It’ll feel just like home soon.” 

“Okay,” Masaru lied. He couldn’t imagine a place this crazy ever feeling like home. 

Two months later, just as he was finishing up for the day at his job as an apprentice civilian accountant in one of the Hokage administration buildings, one of his coworkers dropped a letter on his desk. “Mail for you, Masaru-san.”

“Oh, thank you,” Masaru said distractedly. He stuck the envelope, which appeared as if it had spent considerable time in a dog’s mouth, in his pocket. “See you tomorrow, Yashoki-san.”

The glimmer of sunset off red-tiled roofs was familiar to him now, and he enjoyed the fresh air on his meandering path back to his apartment.

A trio of screaming kids wearing shiny hitai-ate shot past, thundering across the rooftops pursued by a giant stone dragon that toppled food stands in its wake. His path blocked, Masaru turned down a different alley on his way home. It was sopping wet from some incident or another, but whatever it was had passed a while ago.

The thumping of his downstairs neighbours started up again as he let himself into his apartment, but he paid it no mind as he settled at his desk and pulled the envelope from his pocket. He read over the letter with interest -- his friend was writing to tell him that his little sister was planning on moving to Konoha within the month, and could he check in on her when she did?

That sounded like a great idea. Konoha was a great place to live. Masaru grabbed a pen and paper to write a reply.

 _Konohagakure is a bright urban village teeming with peace and opportunity,_ he wrote. _I can’t wait for her to call it home._


End file.
